


we like pieces on the board

by dazeful



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Assistant Coach Oikawa, Digital Art, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Football | Soccer, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sprained Finger, Sugawara Koushi-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazeful/pseuds/dazeful
Summary: “Koushi.”The voice pulls Suga from his head, and he realizes his breath had been coming out in small pants. Oikawa looms over him, the only other person left in the locker room besides Suga. “What happened to all that confidence?”“I𑁋” Suga swallows, his throat a dry and barren desert. “I just, I don’t want to let the team down.”“Come on Kou-chan,” Oikawa’s voice is soft, his eyes peering into Suga’s eyes as though he was looking for something within them. “You’re the best keeper I know! You’re the only one I’d trust in the goal, I mean why else would people call you Mr. Refreshing?”Suga laughs, his breathing becoming steadier with each intake of air. His eyebrows furrow, and he stands to reach Oikawa’s shoulder. “They don’t, you’re the one who made up that embarrassing nickname.” He delivers a soft punch into the man’s body, his expression turning softer. He feels shy all of the sudden, “But thanks, I’m a little less nervous now.”xxOr, Sugawara Koushi is the keeper on the Japanese National soccer team.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65
Collections: Haikyuu Olympics Bang





	we like pieces on the board

**Author's Note:**

> art by leotried (instagram)  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CD679ABpg9-/?igshid=c9ipt3apqc5t

_ “We dared to dream, cloaked in white; _

_ crossed in red. A nation lifted by expectation, _

_ hopes of success and patriotic pride; _

_ linking of arms, passion to win. _

_ No one chases medals of bronze. _

_ Will anyone remember who’s placed fourth? _

_ Fast forward four years; we’ll dare to dream.” _

𑁋Alan Cadman

A bead of sweat rolls down the keeper’s face and catches on a strand of his ashen hair. The march sun beats down upon his back, he can feel the beginning of a sunburn on the skin his jersey doesn’t cover. It’s hot, unbearably so, but the man knows he can’t mind the heat. He clenches his hands in the keeper gloves, eyes watching the play in front of him like a cat watches a mouse. 

The team is up by one point, but there’s time left in the game and the victory can still be snatched away from them. The keeper rocks back and forth on his feet, always moving, always ready. Someone on the opposing team snatches the ball from them, drops it backwards and makes a run up the sideline. It doesn’t matter though, there’s already a defender on the guy by the time he gets the ball again. 

Sugawara Koushi wipes his forehead as one of his defenders drops the ball to him, “Tsukishima! Get it to Kags!” He passes the ball to the tired looking blonde, and the defender delivers it to a waiting Kageyama. The other team makes a stab at it, but Kageyama crosses to shake his attacker. 

He feels a bit like he’s playing chess𑁋 moving each player on the board of green turf, calculating each move from his all-seeing position, and making sure the play stays held together. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suga can see a yellow flag go up in the air. A shrill whistle cuts through the air like a knife, and Sugawara narrows his eyes. It’s a call against them. He can’t hear the ref from his position, but he can  _ see  _ how far forward Hinata had run, and it soon clicks that the man had been offside. Suga sighs, a common mistake for his excited junior. He bends his knees again as the opposing team readies for a free kick. 

It’s a pass to the upper line, the strike from the enemy team gains possession and begins down the field. He passes to the left side, where Kuroo is playing midfield, another player is there to receive it, but Kuroo knocks it out of bounds. Suga hears someone bark out, “Nice job,” sarcastically, and the keeper figures it was Bokuto by the teasing sound of the voice. 

The throw-in goes over Kuroo’s and the opposing striker’s heads, it’s received by a midfielder and Suga watches as his own mid fights for it. Bokuto pulls it out from under the opponent’s feet, a trick he learned from watching Kageyama, and dropped to Yaku. The ball goes from Yaku to Nishinoya, from Noya to Hinata, from H𑁋

Another whistle sounds. Once, twice, three times. 

A smile breaks out across Suga’s face, because they have  _ won _ . The game was over, and  _ his team  _ had qualified for the olympics. 

He rips his gloves off and wipes the sweat from his hands on his jersey. Something barrels into his side, and when Suga looks down he sees a mane of red hair. Hinata has his hands clasped around Suga’s waist, “Suga!” The man picks the goalkeeper off the ground a few inches. “We won! We won!” 

“We did!” Suga can’t help the tears in his eyes,  _ he’s so damn happy _ ! The road to this victory had been long and hard, grueling practices and countless nights spent going over tactics. There’s another weight on his other side, Yaku clamps a hand on his shoulder. Suga loops his arm through Yaku’s and another through Hinata’s, beginning towards the sidelines. 

Coach has already begun his after game speech by the time Suga and the others finally wander over. Suga snatches a water bottle from Daichi and drinks deeply. The roar of the crowd behind them is deafening, Coach Ukai has to shout over them just to be heard. Suga’s sweat soaked uniform is soon laying on the ground as he splashes water on his bare chest. He’s feeling a bit overwhelmed, the noise grates at his ears and the feeling of exhaustion has begun to take its toll. 

Then there’s a hand pressing into his lower back, “Good job today, Kou-chan!” The assistant coach gives him a playful wink. Oikawa Tooru retired from the sport a year ago after a knee injury, now the man helped lead the team to victory. Suga leans into the touch, letting the man’s presence ground him. 

The goalkeeper directs his attention back to Coach Ukai. “We’ve qualified for the biggest competition yet, so don’t think this victory means you get to relax!” Suga shudders, already imagining the taxing practices that await the team. “For now, rest up and take care of yourselves. I’ll send out a training schedule tomorrow morning. Dismissed!” 

Suga feels the weight of their victory hit him like a freight train.  _ They were going to the olympics!  _ A smile breaks out across his face, a goofy sort of grin that shows just how happy he’s feeling. 

Oikawa drops a shirt onto the man’s head. “Put some clothes on, nudist!” 

“You know you love it,” he teases, but does so anyways, the sweat on his skin has started to cool and cause shivers to rack his frame. He shoves his gear back into his bag and stretches his hands over his head. “Ahh, I played the most out of everyone today. You’re still treating me to dinner, yeah?” 

Oikawa shouts something to the other assistant coach, Kita, and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. But not spicy food, something  _ healthy. _ ” Atsumu and Hinata wave goodbye as they go to the changing room. “And don’t forget the press conference, Mr. Star-Keeper.” 

“Don’t remind me!” Suga says a quick farewell to Daichi as the man passes by him. “Those things go on  _ forever. _ I should make Atsumu go instead, he’s so much more charismatic.” 

“Too bad he already booked it out of here, then.” 

“That little fox! So sneaky.” Suga pulls his cleats and shin-guards off, changing into a pair of sandals. “Anyways, let’s get this over with.” Suga slips the strap of his bag over Oikawa’s shoulders, “I’ll be so tired after the conference, treat me to fast food so we can go to the hotel room faster.” 

“I said healthy, Suga-chan!” 

Suga just laughed, his smile growing wider. He cracks his knuckles and starts to where the press conference would be held. Yes, they had won the qualifying match, but the team couldn’t rest easy just yet. There was still a lot to be done. 

xx 

“I hate you.”

“How rude!” Oikawa lifts a ball in his hands and throws it at Suga, the silver haired man catches it with one hand and slings it back at the other. “Tell him what an asshole he’s being, ‘Sumu!” 

Atsumu sighs from where he lay behind the goal. “Think I’ll have to side with Suga on this one.” They’ve been training for the better half of the afternoon. The keepers had warmed up with the rest of the team, and now lay on the other side of the field doing one on one drills with Oikawa. Atsumu groans and sits up, it was his turn in the net. They went in rotations, each keeper diving for twenty balls that Oikawa would launch at them. 

Oikawa had been a goalkeeper as well, before he retired. People had called him the  _ Grand King  _ when he played, a nickname the man had earned because of his ability to perfectly control his team and how unmovable he was in the goal. Suga had met him at a class for keepers, of course he had played him before in both middle school and matches outside of school, but the class was the first time Suga had actually  _ talked  _ to the other man. 

The two of them had been paired up at the class. They were both in their second year of high school, and the both of them had already seen each other various times from across the field. They were the oldest kids at the camp, and because of that had become fast friends. 

_ “Nice to formally meet you, Kou-chan.” Oikawa juggled a ball on his knee, a wide smile stretched over his face. The brown haired boy counted each time the ball hit his knee, pouting as the ball fell at number forty-nine.  _

_ The sound of whistles and voices rose behind them, the noise a comforting constant in Suga’s ears. It was comforting, the sounds of the game, and Suga found he was able to relax easily despite his stomach churning with nervousness. “You’re late. I had to warm up alone.” His words are harsh, but there’s a note of playfulness in them.  _

_ Oikawa yawns, leaning down to adjust his shin-guard. “Yeah, sorry about that.” His eyes fall closed and his tongue pokes out, “You know what they say, needed the beauty sleep and all that.” His lips are pressed in a thin line, and Suga knows the other boy is holding laughter at bay.  _

_ “Why yo𑁋” _

_ “Oikawa!” The coach’s voice breaks out across the field. “You’re late! Five laps!” _

_ “Yes ma’am,” Oikawa kicks his ball away and starts down the field. _

_ Suga stiffles his laughter, cupping a hand around his mouth to call out to the other player. “That’s what you get!”  _

_ “Sugawara! You’re his partner, why aren’t you running to?” Coach barks out, amusement clear in her voice.  _

_ The keeper pushes silver hair from his forehead, starting a light jog. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”  _

A ball smacks him in the face, and Oikawa’s voice pulls him from his daze. “Helloooo!” He draws the  _ o  _ out for an annoying amount of time. “Earth to Koushi,” Suga blinks as a hand crowds his vision, his eyes rolling at Oikawa’s antics. 

“Spaced out a bit there, did I miss anything?” He rubs the spot on his head where the ball had struck, throwing Oikawa a glare over his shoulder. 

Atsumu laughs into his water bottle, the drink running down his cheeks and soaking the collar of his shirt. “Yeah, it’s yer turn.” He throws a glance to Ennoshita, their backup keeper, holding his hand up and making a movement as if to say  _ Suga’s finally lost it. _

“Gotcha!” Suga leans down to adjust his shin-guard, repositioning it in his socks. His gloves are hot, and Suga can feel the sweat soaked into them as he pulls the things on. He claps his hands together, once, twice, and spits into hit gloves. (It’s a bit of a habit now, a sort of good luck ritual, but the action also makes his gloves stickier and better able to catch the ball.)

He rocks up and down on his heels, watching Oikawa with hawk-like intensity. He notices every movement, every breath, that Oikawa takes𑁋 his hands that gingerly place the ball on the penalty mark, the way his throat bobs up and down as he swallows, the wink he throws at Suga as he draws back in preparation to strike. 

The ball springs from Oikawa’s foot, and sweat from the man’s hair at the sudden movement. It’s low, arcing to the lower left corner of the goal. Suga kicks off, his body flying to the corner of the net a second before the ball does. The force of the ball almost makes him tilt back into the goal,  _ almost,  _ and he leaps to his feet to chuck the ball back at Oikawa within seconds. 

“Nice, Suga-chan!” Oikawa’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, his face darkening, “Let’s see if you can catch the next one.” The words make a shiver run down his spine, and gooseflesh beads on his skin despite the summer heat. 

Oikawa skips backwards a few feet. His body makes an obvious curve as he runs up to the ball, his foot pulling back and striking the ball with a force Suga didn’t know was possible. It’s mid-level, coming right up to Suga’s upper thigh. The silver haired man doesn’t have enough time to stop it with his hands, instead he uses his thigh as a shield and pounces on the object as it falls to the ground in front of him. 

_ “Jesus,”  _ Suga rolls the ball away and plops on the ground, bunching the material of his shorts up so he can peer at the impact the strike had on him. Red blossoms across his skin, already turning purple at the edges, and the criss-cross indent of the soccer ball can be seen pressed into his skin. A shadow falls over his body, the sun disappearing behind Oikawa’s head as he leans down to study the fallen keeper closely. “Really?” His tone is full of annoyance, the extra training and Oikawa’s killer penalties grating on his nerves. 

“Ah, sorry,” Oikawa squats down beside the man, “But I have to prepare you for the games. The Olympics are a whole new level of difficulty.” 

Sugawara purses his lips, his words coming out in a low huff. “Whatever.” 

“Now come on,” Oikawa claps his hands together, the noise only furthering Suga’s irritation. “You have 18 more saves to do!”

“You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“Hey𑁋”

xx 

“I’m gonna throw up𑁋” 

“Hinata!” Suga leans across the table and pushed the redhead’s food out of the way. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and sit by the toilet?” He remembers his mom telling him to do the same thing, on the night before the first day of school, or before he had a big match.  _ Better out than in,  _ had been a common phrase of the woman’s. 

Tsukishima snickers from his seat beside Hinata, propping his head up by his hands and leering down at the other man. “Quite literally scared shitless, huh?” A round of laughs sweeps across the dinner table, and Kenma fixes Tsukishima with a cat-like glare. 

“Isn’t it more excitement than nerves, though?” Kageyama’s mouth is full, his words coming out slurred as he gulps down a bowl of rice. 

“I think it’s,” Hinata holds his stomach tightly, standing abruptly and throwing his chair out from underneath him, “ _ Both. _ ” 

Suga shakes his head as the redhead races off, trying to keep laughter from slipping past his lips as Hinata runs into  _ three  _ other people on his quest for the bathroom. He casts his gaze down the table he’s sitting at, watching his teammates interact with interest. It seems like everyone’s a bit nervous tonight, a perfectly normal response considering they had their first game tomorrow morning. 

Bokuto has that look on his face that he gets when he fumbles a play. Kita and Ukai argue over a spreadsheet containing the player’s names, erasing plays and scribbling out things as they bicker. Kenma snoozes on a weary looking Kuroo’s shoulder, Asahi looks like he’s seen a ghost. The others are a mix of nervous excitement and drooping eyes. Suga turns to the other table, trying to catch Oikawa’s eye. 

The former keeper is talking animatedly to an annoyed looking Iwaizumi. Suga wonders what they’re talking about𑁋 from the way Oikawa’s hands are moving, Suga has a feeling it’s about the new strategy he wanted to try out. Suga lets himself stare, not caring about how ridiculous he looked turned around in his seat with his head propped up on his hands. 

It’s odd, Suga muses, just how beautiful Oikawa looks in the dim light of the restaurant. The hazy yellow lights turn his hair a warm honey, and a light smattering of freckles can just barely be seen from where Suga sits. Dimples show as Oikawa laughs, and Sugawara feels a smile tug at his lips. He likes seeing the other happy, it makes  _ him  _ happy, and soon he feels his nerves slip away. 

Oikawa looks up mid-sentence, his eyes flashing across the room and catching Suga’s gaze. The man cocks an eyebrow,  _ ‘Something wrong?’  _ He mouths. 

Suga shakes his head, silver hair falling into his eyes.  _ ‘Nothing.’  _ He pushes the hair from his forehead, turning back around in his seat. He plays absentmindedly with the food left on his plate, turning a french fry over and over with his fork. He likes the repetitive action, likes how it keeps his mind from dwelling over the round-robin tournament tomorrow. 

A hand comes down on Suga’s shoulder. The touch is sudden, causing him to jerk in his seat and a shiver to rack his body. He casts his head back, honey gold eyes narrowed. “Do you mind?” 

“Don’t jump out of your skin now,” Oikawa looks down at him, bent awkwardly over Suga’s body. “So something  _ is  _ wrong.” 

It’s not a question. “Just a little anxious,” Suga laughs, “I mean who wouldn’t be on the eve of such an important game?” A waiter comes to their table, Oikawa moves out of the way and Suga rounds up the plates near him. “Aren’t you?” 

“Well, not particularly,” Oikawa hums, tapping his chin, “I’m not the one playing, all my expectations are on you.”

“Just me?” 

“Mostly.” 

Suga stands, delivering a swift punch to Oikawa’s upper arm. “Then I guess I’ll have to live up to your expectations.” He pushes his chair in and swings his bag over his shoulder, waiting for Oikawa to lead the way out of the restaurant. 

“You better,” there’s a note of playfulness in Oikawa’s tone, betraying his serious expression. “You should just take all the glory𑁋 defend the net, score goals, do all the kick-ins.” He winds their pinkies together, a soft touch, like wind over bare skin. 

The keeper laughs, “I should, shouldn’t I?” He swings their arms up and down, the way his mother used to do while she held his hand to keep him from wandering off. “I can see the headlines now𑁋 Sugawara Koushi, one-man team takes gold for Japan!” He makes a flourish with his free hand, trying to add to the grand statement. 

Street lamps flicker on above them as they navigate the street. The sky above them is dark, the city air hides the stars from their eyes and the moon is little more than a sliver of yellow against the haze of city lights. “I’d hang it up in the living room, right above the couch so you’d have to see it when you walked in.” 

“Beside the weird alien picture you have hanging up?” 

“Of course,” Oikawa’s voice is full of breathless laughter, “And it’s not  _ weird _ ! It’s  _ art. _ ” 

“Whatever you say.” 

xx 

The locker room was dank, the smell of sweat and cheap deodorant hung heavy on the air. Suga pulls his uniform on, the green keeper jersey too-hot on his skin and soaked with the scent of his previous games. Atsumu and Ennoshita get ready beside him, the rest of the team a few feet away. 

The round robin tournament had begun this morning, the American and German teams the first to play. They’d eaten a quiet breakfast this morning, eyes kept downwards towards their plates and even the loudest team members were cast in silence. Hinata had visited the bathroom four times, Bokuto had been in his dejected state the better half of the morning, and Asahi’s hands shook so much Suga thought they were going to fall off. 

Suga’s own nerves weren’t much better, his hands cold and sweat beading in his hair. It seemed to only just hit him𑁋 the true reality of being an Olympic’s player𑁋 as though a weight had settled on his shoulders the moment he stepped into the locker room. The air feels electric, like the moments before lightning strikes, and Suga swears that a storm will break out across the team at any moment. 

He claps his hands together, the sound bouncing off the metal lockers and echoing about the room. “What’s got everyone in such a bunch?” Suga clears his throat, his voice like the flourish of a conductor𑁋 commanding all of the attention in the room. “Is it because the camera crews? The foreign power houses?” He waits for a beat, letting his question ring around the room. “You weren’t this nervous when we played in the tournament in Brazil, so why are you getting nervous now?” 

He waits for an answer, but the room stays silent. “We’ll be just fine, and you know why?” 

Someone asks  _ why  _ from the back of the room, and from his position at the front Suga cannot make out who it is.    
  


“Because you’ve got  _ me  _ guarding the net. If you mess up, I’ll be there for you𑁋 or any other member of this team will be for that matter. Where one person’s strength fails, another’s flourishes. So,” Suga grins, his smile holding the confidence of a lion’s bared teeth. “We’ll do just fine out there.” 

A chorus of excited agreements echo around the room, a low chant rising with every breath they take. Suga sees a renewed fire in his teammate’s eyes, and confidence in the way they move. He rubs his too cold hands together, the gloves on his hands doing nothing to combat the cold that has seeped into his skin. 

He settles on a bench, hands moving on auto-pilot to tighten his shoelaces for the thirteenth time that day. Coach Ukai yells something in the background, but the noise goes unnoticed by Suga. The lights are suddenly too bright, and he swears he can hear the clock as it ticks onwards. He wants to live up to his bold words, wants to carry his team to victory, but he’s  _ scared,  _ so scared. 

A thousand scenarios races through his mind. The ball slipping past his outstretched hand, his body falling a moment too soon, the enemy striker pulling the ball from his reach, his body overwhelmed with exhaustion, his bones breaking𑁋

“Koushi.” 

The voice pulls Suga from his head, and he realizes his breath had been coming out in small pants. Oikawa looms over him, the only other person left in the locker room besides Suga. “What happened to all that confidence?” 

“I𑁋” Suga swallows, his throat a dry and barren desert. “I just, I don’t want to let the team down.” 

“Come on Kou-chan,” Oikawa’s voice is soft, his eyes peering into Suga’s eyes as though he was looking for something within them. “You’re the best keeper I know! You’re the only one I’d trust in the goal, I mean why else would people call you  _ Mr. Refreshing _ ?” 

Suga laughs, his breathing becoming steadier with each intake of air. His eyebrows furrow, and he stands to reach Oikawa’s shoulder. “They don’t,  _ you’re  _ the one who made up that embarrassing nickname.” He delivers a soft punch into the man’s body, his expression turning softer. He feels shy all of the sudden, “But thanks, I’m a little less nervous now.”

“Only a little?” 

“Okay, okay𑁋  _ a lot. _ ” 

Oikawa knocks their shoulders together, making Koushi rock back and forth on his feet. Suga lets the assistant coach lead him from the locker room, holding the hem of Oikawa’s shirt between his fingers as he peers at the Olympic venue. The field is a rolling expanse of green, a castle circled by a moat of red track. The stadium is nearly full, a rainbow of people dotting the silver bleachers. 

Suga sucks in a breath, and a low whistle sounds from Oikawa’s throat. The team is waiting on the closest side of the field, the South Korean team standing a few meters away in their black and white, striped jerseys. Suga laughs to himself, from his position they almost look like a herd of zebras. 

Coach beams at them, his smile cocky and full of an emotion Suga can’t discern. “Alight,” Ukai claps his hands together, the whistle on his neck bobbing up and down at the movement. “Who’s ready to win a game?” 

xx 

Suga feels sweat roll down his face, beading on his chin and soaking into the collar of his jersey. The game waged on in front of him, the final quarter ticking away slowly like the drip of honey off a spoon. Atsumu was in the goal now, his eyes cast down the field at the strikers trying desperately to knock a ball into the goal. 

It’s hard to see from his position at the opposite side of the field, but Suga can just make out Sakusa and Ushijima working together outside the keeper box. Sakusa pulls the ball towards himself, calls something to Ushijima, but drops to Kenma. Suga laughed to himself as the Romanian’s team defenders moved to flank Ushijima, Sakusa had a knack for making it seem like he was going to pass to one person, but then giving the ball to another. 

Hinata’s voice can be heard over the roar of the crowd behind him, the greedy call for the ball never ceasing. He gets ignored as the ball bounces to Bokuto, the man pushing past an opposing midfielder to make a shot at the goal. It hits the crossbeam above the goal, the Romanian Keeper pushing it over the net in the last second. A corner kick for them. 

“Substitute!” Ukai stands, calling out to the referee. 

The ref nods, and Ukai motions for Suga to switch out with Atsumu. He slaps Suga on the back as he passes, “We’re up by one, keep it that way.” 

“Roger that.” Suga makes a mock salute, tightening the gloves around his wrists. The whistle sounds again and Bokuto moves to kick the ball in. Nishinoya and the other defenders have stepped up to center field, Suga follows and stands a few feet outside the 18-yard box. 

Bokuto’s kick flies in a powerful arc, following the thick-white border of the field like a line on a graph. The keeper yells something in a foreign tongue, and his teammate’s scatter like a flock of pigeons flying away. He makes a lunge, body pushing against Ushijima and snatching the ball out from the man’s feet. 

The keeper runs up to the 18-yard line and draws a foot back, punting the ball with pinpoint accuracy to a waiting striker. Suga takes a few careful steps back, his arms already shifting up in preparation to catch the ball. The Romanian striker dribbles around Aone’s feet, his speed much more than the white haired male could produce. 

A pass connects the two Romanian players together. Tsukishima makes a stab at the ball, his movement disturbing the flow of the play and causing the Romanian players to falter. A midfield is there to pick up the drop, the yellow-striped player sprinting to the far reaches of the field in an effort to slip past the Japanese defenders. 

Tendou keeps pace with the enemy midfielder that sneaks up the side of the field, his hip grinding against the other man’s. They make it into the penalty box, and Suga readies himself to snatch the ball away. A whistle sounds and the play stops, the referee making a call against Tendou’s physical play. 

The penalty kick is only feet away from Suga. He can see the Romanian player clearly now𑁋 can see his almost red eyes narrow in concentration and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Suga steps back on the line that matches up with the top beam of the goal, his body rocking back and forth as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

The ref tells him the usual𑁋  _ Don’t step off the line until the whistle is blown  _ 𑁋 and steps back. Players from both teams line the penalty box like a hungry pack of lions cornering play, their eyes harsh and calculating as the Romanian player steps back from the ball. 

A shrill whistle cuts through the air, and the sound around Suga seems to drain away until he can only hear his own labored breathing. The enemy player runs forward, his foot connecting with the ball, and Suga feels the world slow down. 

He can see the ball as it leaves the Romanian player’s foot, can see it as it hangs in the air to the left of him. He dives, hands stretching out as far as his body would allow as he reaches for the ball. His hand connects, and the ball flies off his fingers to the waiting chest of Yamaguchi. The freckled defender wastes no time in delivering the ball back down the field, the play once more taking place on the side Romania defends in seconds. 

Suga feels an ache settle in his hands. The kick was strong, and it was wrong of him to only touch it with his fingers. He can feel the bone shift in his finger and he  _ knows  _ the bone is broken, or fractured, or whatever medical term could be applied. It’s his pointer finger, the one on his right hand, the one that he’d broken two summers ago. 

It throbs dully under his glove. Suga bites his lip, his mouth filling with the taste of salt and iron. What would it look like when he takes the glove off? Purple and swollen, or maybe the skin split open and his hands stained a deep red? He shakes his head, chasing the thought from his mind.

He doesn’t mention his finger when Nishinoya asks him if he’s alright. He doesn’t mention it when Atsumu subs in for him and Ukai gives him a  _ look.  _ He doesn’t mention it, no, because if he did he’d have to sit out. And he’d play through a thousand broken bones before sitting useless on the sidelines. 

It was his last year as a keeper𑁋 soon he’d be going to work in Miyagi as a teacher and the only soccer he’d have would be the team he’d signed up to coach 𑁋 and he wanted to make this last year great. 

xx 

“Well, it’s not broken.” 

Suga sucks his lips between his teeth, trying to distract himself from the pain radiating through his hand. “So I can still play?” 

Takeda holds Sugawara’s finger carefully, peering at the injury with a delicate eye. “You can play with a sprain, yes,” The man pauses, shifting his glasses that had fallen down his face. “Just not in the goal.” 

The silver haired keeper feels Oikawa’s hands tighten on his shoulders. The movement is abrupt, Suga had almost forgotten the assistant coach had been behind him, and it makes his blood turn to ice. “Not in the goal? But𑁋”

“No buts, Sugawara-san, any more strain on this finger and there could be lasting damage.” Takeda stands, fishing for the medical kit he had on stand by. “It seems to be a second degree sprain, so for now I’ll tape the injured finger to the adjacent one. You won't be able to move it when I’m done.” The athletic trainer pulls a roll of bandages and a clasp, the objects leering up at Suga as though they were saying  _ you’ve really done it now!  _

Sugawara clenches his free hand into a fist, thumping his head against the man standing behind him. “Then what am I going to play? There’s no room for me anywhere else!” He can feel the frustration building in himself, his mind a cup of water slowly filling and threatening to overflow. 

“Um, Suga-senpai?” 

Liquid Gold eyes snap over to the area beside him, Suga finds a handful of waiting defenders. Yamaguchi acts as the ringleader, with a tired looking Tsukishima and excited Nishinoya in tow. “If you want, you could take my place.” The younger man fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his foot rocking up and down in a nervous manner. “It’s your last year, right? I still have time left to play, and you played defense so…” The man trails off, his cheeks heated a light pink and eyes looking at a point over Suga’s head.

“No take my place, Suga-san!” Nishinoya pushes Yamaguchi out of the way, laughing as the taller male stumbles backwards into Tsukishima. “We can each play half of the game!” 

Tsukishima adjusts his glasses, the small movement capturing Sugawara’s attention. “Or you could play in my place.” He clears his throat, “Not like I care either way.” 

Tears bead on his lashes like dew on morning grass, “You guys!” He can’t keep his voice from wavering, his emotions too strong to reign in. He stands suddenly, shocking Takeda who was still trying to wrap his fingers. He crosses the floor in one stride, his hands seeking purchase on Yamaguchi and Tsukishima’s shirts as he pulls them into a bear hug. He feels a weight on his back and when he turns his head he can just make out Nishinoya clinging to his upper body. “What did I do to deserve such good teammates?” 

“Sprain a finger.” 

“True,” Suga jams a thumb into the soft skin above Tsukishima’s hips and holds the other close as he tries to dance out of reach. He hears Oikawa laughing behind him, and Takeda going on a rant about how Suga needed to let the trainer finish wrapping his finger. He presses his face tighter against someone’s chest𑁋 he’s not sure if it’s Yamaguchi or Tsukishima𑁋 and when he inhales he can smell the soft scent of clean linen and sweet smelling deodorant. 

It’s warm, both figuratively and literally𑁋 their sun soaked bodies heating one another and making sweat bead on Suga’s forehead, and the tenderness of the gesture makes Suga’s heart crackle with the warmth of a campfire. 

He pulls away, holding the three defenders out in front of him. “I’ll play a little, but I’m still counting on all of you to protect Atsumu and Ennoshita.” He skips backwards into the seat beside Takeda, holding his hand out for the man to take. “Let’s win this together.”

xx 

The whistle blows three times. 

An ache resonates throughout Suga’s body as he falls to the ground. He feels his chest constrict, the phantom hand of something clawing at his throat and pulling the air from his lungs. A sob slips past his lips, tears running down his cheeks and soaking the ground below him. 

They’d lost the bronze medal match. 

Grass slips through his fingers, Suga clenches his hand and pulls it up by the roots. He feels someone behind him, a hand presses into his shoulder and then Yaku is lifting him up to his feet like a mother cat plucking a kitten up by the scruff of its neck. 

Suga lets himself collapse against the shorter male, “ _ Fuck,  _ we were so close!” He gets to his feet, dusting the dirt and blades of grass from his jersey. 

Yaku nods his head in agreement with Suga’s words, tears of his own turning his eyes puffy and red. “Next time for sure, we’ll win no matter what.” 

“There’s no next time for us, Mori, this was our last chance.” Suga wipes his eyes, trying to tune out the victory  _ whoops _ that sound from the opposite side of the field. 

“The team will win it for us,” Yaku knocks their shoulders together as they walk off the field, “We just have to put our faith in them. Tsukki and Yamaguchi would never let us down.” 

The team gathers around them as they cross over the field’s border, sweaty bodies press close to Suga’s own and hands run over his back and shoulders. “You’re right. I’m still unsatisfied, though.” He accepts a water bottle from one of the managers, his raw and aching throat rejoicing as the cold liquid floods his mouth. He holds the bottle so that it points at Yaku’s face. “I wanted to be greedy, I wanted to win.” 

“You and me both.” 

Suga rocks back and forth on his feet as Ukai makes some grand speech, only half listening to the man. He catches  _ fourth place  _ and  _ will do better  _ before tuning the man out entirely. He flexes his fingers, the taped ones stay firmly pointed at the ground and Suga wonders how long it’ll be before he can peel the tape away. Not being able to move his body fully made him uneasy. 

An announcement crackles over the loud-speaker. Suga can barely hear the voice over the bustle of the ground around them, but he thinks it signals the upcoming awards ceremony. Ukai starts to finish his speech. Suga listens to the latter half of the Coach’s words, where Ukai tells them to rest up and know that they are still victors despite not making it into the top three teams. He sees Oikawa through breaks between people’s bodies, the brown haired man picking up fallen water bottles and discarded shin-guards. 

Weaving through the crowd of Japanese soccer players is like trying to navigate through the ocean. Thick throngs of people push and pull like waves and Suga finds that it is near impossible to get to the assistant coach without bumping into anyone. 

He catches Oikawa’s hand as the man rises from the ground, having bent over to pick something up. Suga blinks at him, unsure of what to say. He swings their hands back and forth, turning back to Ukai. He feels Oikawa squeeze his hand, a touch both tender and comforting, like coming home after a day away or the first kiss after waking up. 

“That’s it𑁋 go get yourselves cleaned up and meet at the base of the stairs for the awards ceremony.” Ukai waves his hand through the air, like he’s trying to swat the time away as though they were but a swarm of bugs. “Come on, get moving. You guys smell horrible.” 

Suga laughs, letting his attention shift back to the man whose hand he still held. “Could you be a dear and get my bag?” He waves his injured hand in front of the other’s face. “I’m just in so much pain, I don’t think I can even lift it. And I’m depressed.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Oikawa questions, but he still bends to snatch Suga’s bag from where it sits on the bench. “You have to carry my clipboard, though. One man can only carry so much after all.” He copies Suga’s tone of faux pleading, holding the object out for Suga to take. 

The silver haired man sniffs, still struggling to breath from his earlier crying fit. “I think I can manage that.” The clipboard is a steady weight in the man’s hand. He stares down at the paper on it, eyes softening at the doodles and messy notes Oikawa had filled it with. “You gonna take a shower too?” 

Oikawa hums, pulling Suga’s and another bag higher up his shoulders. “I don’t think I particularly need one, but if you’re extending an invitation𑁋” The man trails off, cocking an eyebrow in Sugawara’s direction. 

“I suppose I am,” Suga teases, “The Olympic games are such an expensive event, I think they’d appreciate our efforts to conserve water.” He bumps his hip into Oikawa’s, his eyes holding a challenge within their depths. 

“Of course, of course.” Oikawa hums, “I’ll take you up on that offer then.” 

xx 

The awards ceremony is bittersweet. 

Sugawara can’t keep the tears from his eyes as they place bronze, gold, and silver over the bowed heads of winning teams. He’s jealous, he supposes, jealous he would never have the chance to stand on that podium and feel the pride of being the best. Still, he smiles and thanks the officials as they congratulate Japan on ranking fourth, and even goes as far to talk with a few silver medalists from the German team. 

He cries again in the hotel room.  Fourth place  _ hurt.  _ He feels like he hasn’t tried hard enough, that if only he hadn’t sprained his finger he would have helped carry the team to victory. It’s like he’s been haunted 𑁋 a ghost of all the things he did and didn’t do floating through his head and making his blood run cold.  If only he hadn’t let the ball slip through his fingers in the second match. If only he hadn’t been to slow on the corner kick. If only 𑁋

“Suga!” 

Atsumu stands in the doorway of his hotel room. The light of the hallway outlines his body in an aura of gold, and Suga thinks at that moment the man looks a bit like the angels his mother would tell him about on Sunday mornings. He strides into the room with heavy steps, as though there is an unseen burden weighing him down.

“I heard ya whispering from the hallway, so I thought I’d step in.” He stands in front of Suga, towering over the older man who sits at the edge of the bed. “I wanted to win just as badly as you, maybe even more so.” Suga notices that the man’s hands are clenched in tight fists at his hips, skin turning red from where Atsumu’s nails dig into the soft flesh. “But we didn’t. We didn’t win.”

Suga clears his throat, one eyebrow raising curiously. “What’s your point?” He scoots over on the bed, trying not to disturb the sheets he’d just folded, and pats the space beside him. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” Atsumu plops down onto the bed, the movement heavy and making Suga bounce up into the air a few centimeters. “It’s not your fault, or my fault, or anyone else’s. I can see you fiddlin’ with your finger and the whole hallway can hear your mumbling.” Atsumu takes a deep breath, his hands gripping the fabric of his jeans. “You shouldn’t be upset. It sucks, but nothing can change how it happened.” He pauses, and Suga wonders if that’s all he wanted to say. He feels a hand on his shoulder and when he turns to look he notices Atsumu has pressed his palm to Suga’s body and stares down at him. “Next time. I’ll definitely carry the team to victory next time.” 

“I’ll be counting on you.” 

xx 

“How’s your finger?” Oikawa leans over Suga’s shoulder, placing a mug of something hot on the table beside the silver haired man. They’re back home now, the Olympic games nothing more than a lingering memory in the back of their minds. 

Suga flexes the finger he’d injured, wincing at the dull throb that accompanied the movement. “It’s getting there.” He places his other hand on Oikawa’s cheek, pulling the man down for a chaste kiss. Oikawa smells of earth and sandalwood, of expensive hair products and aftershave, he smells like home. “I can actually type now𑁋 which is good because the paperwork has stacked up.” 

“You haven’t even started teaching yet, what paperwork could you possibly have?” 

“I’m still finishing up my lesson plans.” He leans back into Oikawa’s chest, his work forgotten as he relishes in the other man’s warmth. “Why? Did you need me for something?” 

Oikawa spins the other man around, the rolling chair screeching across the hardwood floor. “I wanted to kick the ball around. Think you could carve out an hour for me?” 

“So much for retiring,” Suga rolls his eyes, his voice an odd mix of amused and teasing. “But, yeah, I’d carve out a million hours for you.” 

xx 

The field is empty by the time they arrive. The small community park is devoid of human life, the only movement the passing of moths under street lamps and the occasional bat flitting by overhead. 

Suga throws the ball over Oikawa’s head, sitting his phone and wrist-watch beside the goalpost. “You in goal or me?” His voice cuts through the silence of the park, so sudden of a noise that even the cicadas cease their humming. 

“Me!” Oikawa is already getting into position, his hands covered in a beat up pair of old keeper gloves Suga had thrown into the garage and left months ago. “I would never shoot on someone with a fucked finger.” 

“Watch it Mr.” Suga holds a ring of keys around his finger, swirling in around as though he’s trying to taunt the other man. “I hold the power to decide whether you get home or not.” He slips the object into the small pocket on his chest, patting it in a teasing sort of way. “And it’s not looking good for you right now.” 

Oikawa scoffs, the sound like steam slipping from behind a kettle lid. “You sure are cocky for someone who hasn’t scored a single goal. Don’t you remember our bet?” He cups his hands over his mouth, hips shaking back and forth like he’s trying to get a rise out of the other man. “Should I refresh your memory?” 

“No, no.” Suga places the ball on the penalty kick mark, “Fifty shots. If I score at least twenty-six then I get to order you around for a day. On the flip side, if you block that many, then you get to order  _ me  _ around.” He steps back a few paces, squinting in the lowlight. “Ready?” 

The brown haired keeper bends his knees, his body shifting into a defensive stance. “‘Course I am.” 

xx 

“What to make you do…” Suga trails off, bending low to pick his phone and watch off the cool grass. “So many possibilities.”

Oikawa hangs off of Suga’s back, his weight threatening to make both of them fall over. “Kou-channn,” he draws out the syllables of Suga’s nickname for an annoying amount of time. “You didn’t tell me you were such a good striker! We should’ve had you playing up top!” 

Suga shudders, despite the warmth flowing through his veins from the night practice. “Me? Playing forward? I don’t think so.” He turns around under Oikawa’s weight, pressing their chest together and winding his arms around the man’s upper body. “I think I know what I want first!” He checks his watch, a dim 11:28 staring up at him. “Mind if I ask a little early?” 

“Depends on what it is,” Oikawa drawls, his hands rubbing circles into Suga’s lower back. 

“I want,” Suga stands on his tiptoes, pressing his nose into Oikawa’s neck, “A kiss.” 

The taller man hums, lacing his hands together behind Suga and locking the man against his body. “I think I can do that.” 

“You  _ think _ ?” 

Oikawa doesn’t answer, lowering his head and pressing their mouths together. Suga smiles into the kiss, Oikawa mirrors the movement, and Suga presses harder against the other man. Oikawa’s hands rise up Suga’s back, tracing the outline of Suga’s spine with featherlight touches. The ashen haired man twines their tongues together, a dance of intimacy Suga would never do with anyone else. Oikawa pulls away first and takes a deep inhale, “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing that all day. You know, instead of chores and whatnot.” 

“Not a chance, lover boy.” Suga flicks the other’s forehead lightly. “You’re cleaning the whole house, doing the laundry, making dinner, go𑁋” 

“I get it, I get it!” 

Suga knocks their shoulders together, laughter bubbling from his chest. “Only kidding.” He loops their arms together, pulling the other man in the direction of their car. “I’ll probably just have you make breakfast and help me finish my paperwork.” The park feels odd this late at night, Suga finds himself uneasy being alone in a place that is usually so full of life. He presses closer to Oikawa, focusing on the halo of light cast around the man’s head and not the shadows that stretch across the street.

“You’re so kind.” Oikawa teases, “Though, I’m not sure I’ll be much help. I have no experience with teaching children.”

“You helped coach the national team, I think that qualifies you.” 

“Are you calling your former teammates children?” 

Suga cocks his head, “Well, maybe only a couple of them.” 

“Hah!”

“Am I  _ wrong _ ?” 

The assistant coach laughs, “No.” His hand slips into Suga’s pocket, fishing the keys out and unlocking the door to their car. The headlights are vivid in the darkness, tearing yellow streaks through the inky blackness that surrounds them. 

Suga falls into the passenger seat in a boneless heap, his body tired from their nightly endeavors and weariness making his eyelids heavy. “I don’t even feel like brushing my teeth when we get home.” 

“We can do it in the shower.” Oikawa turns the key and the car roars to life. “It’s called  _ multitasking. _ ” He urges the car into movement, pulling out of the park and into the lonely road that borders it. 

A yawn makes tears bead in Suga’s eyes, and he tries desperately to fight off sleep. “Sounds good to me.” He lets his eyes fall to the window, watching trees and dim houses pass by in a blur of dark colors. Oikawa makes a noise low in his throat, and Suga’s attention is pulled to the other man like a nail to a magnet. Oikawa’s eyes are steady on the road, his face lit by the blue glow of the radio and shadows dancing across his face. He’s beautiful, Suga thinks, even when he’s covered in sweat and still has a pout on his face from winning their wager. “Love you, Tooru.” 

Oikawa’s eyes flit to Suga’s, meeting in a mix of warm mahogany and golden sunlight. “What a sudden declaration.” He turns his gaze back to the road, hands drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. “And I love you.” 

Sugawara rolls the soccer ball on his lap back and forth, relishing in the way the worn leather felt under his calloused fingers. He picks at a spot peeling off the ball, debating on whether or not it was time to order another one. His hand slides across the center console and settles on Oikawa’s knee. It’s a comforting sort of touch, meant to soothe, and Suga feels the other relax under his hand.

He misses the fast paced environment of the Olympic games, misses the way the adrenaline would flood his veins and light his blood on fire. He misses the ups and downs of winning and losing. But this, Suga muses, this soft sense of security and warm environment is something he would never replace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright second fic down!!! Here we gooo. Comments are appreciated, hope you enjoyed !!


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